


The Bonds Between Us

by thenukacolagirl



Category: Blades of Light and Shadow (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bonding, Cock Tease, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Making Out, Nudity, Psychic Bond, Semi-Public Sex, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Surprise Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenukacolagirl/pseuds/thenukacolagirl
Summary: The bonds do exist to discriminate against love or its lovers... but to simply give and take as needed.
Relationships: Tyril Starfury/female character, original female character/canon male character - Relationship, tyril/f!mc
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did I get in too over my head with this fic? Of course I did.
> 
> Will there be future parts to this fic? Whos to say.
> 
> HC credit to @diamondsless on tumblr for tyril and his blush being purple!

Elves are a rarity, a speck on a two thousand year old timeline between their near extinction and now. Azari was fully prepared to go about her life in Riverbend without so much as ever seeing another elf. Stories of her kind told through drunken travelers or the rare occurrence of an adventurer passing on by. They are never much help, any tales they told blurred the lines of myths and facts, leaving her miffed and hopeless as a child, an acceptance that grew on her and became an old friend.

It was hard to remain hopeful when she knew her people, once so prideful and prosperous, died a death that could have been found only in the history books. That _she_ could have never existed. 

She likes to humor herself that if she couldn’t have subsist in this life, that maybe she thrived in another.

But meeting _him_ … by gods it was the greatest thing to happen. 

Their first meeting proved they’re not alike, not on the surface level at least. Tyril is too guarded, too jaded and too hurt that the walls are up with no sign of ever coming down. She made it her job to find the cracks and slip in them, to chip away and see what secrets lie behind them. He told her she’s too forward, too impulsive and naive; however, not in the way Nia is, but in the way that she’s playing with fire and not expecting it to burn. They bickered and pass audacious gazes like they’re waiting for the other to speak but are disappointed when no words come. Words are on _his_ terms, not hers. But time… now time was all hers. 

It’s what brings them to their current situation. To her predicament. One where she’s left to tend to his wounds by firelight while the rest of the crew sleeps on.

“ _Shit_ that hurts!” he hisses when she presses a hot rag against his forearm. He’s insistent that the tailored undershirt stay on if the armor has to be off, making it an operose task to patch up the wound. “Thought you said you were a healer!”

Azari glares in his direction. A lock of honey colored hair in her face as she blows it out of the way. “I _am_! But maybe if you stopped moving about and took off this damn tablecloth of a shirt I could actually work!You’re the one who’s tried covering up getting hurt by those skeleton orcs!” Her tone is defensive and grounded. Her nostrils flaring as he scowls and turns his head away from her. 

“A table cloth? Really? Oh you wouldn’t know _fine_ elven craftsmanship if it bit you in the ass! And it’s not serious, that's why I said nothing. I can handle it.”His words are lies however, veing exposed by the jerky shift in his movement and breathing becoming unsparing. His hands balling into fist to mask the pain.

She draws the rag away from him and sits back, arms crossing firmly over her chest. She can wait. Wait until the end of time for him to come around acknowledging the verity that he _needs_ her. It’s why she takes pleasure in knowing time is on her side. When words fail, time prevails as a victorious winner.

“Oh the silent treatment, how rich,” Tyril rolls his eyes and gives a scoff, “that’s fine. We have all night. I’ll sleep the pain off. You can take the floor by the fireplace if you’d like.”

Azari cocks an eyebrow, unmoving from her position on the floor as she tightens her hand around the burning hot rag. 

_What an ass. So entitled, egotistical, solitary and...and…_

And she can’t help but fall for him. And it makes her wonder if it’s Kilvali or Dinvali type of love she has for Tyril.

The lore tablet they found at the ship has its purpose. Without it, she wouldn’t know much about her culture. She certainly wouldn’t have known elves married for political power grabs or that both derive from separate parts of herself. It makes her wonder if Tyril ever experienced it, and what was going to await him once they reached Undermount. Hell, in some way it almost seems incredulous that he’s blind to her apparent emotions.

Yet again, this _is_ the man who shuts out anyone who tries to get close to him. 

Perhaps it’s because she _knows_ deep down that, that demeanor is his security. Like a child clinging to their mother’s skirt when frightened. It’s not a fault she can pin on him, it be hypocritical. His walls are built by the hands of those who stripped him of a childhood and who hurt him and isn’t looking to be hurt again. Such as in the way her own walls are built up by hiding fear with humor and inevitability she’ll lose everyone she’s ever going to love so why bother to love fully at all. 

But Tyril? Oh he makes her _feel_ like she can for once in her life love fully. Be it so it’s a Kilvali or Dinvali style of love (conceivably could be both), it’s a feeling nonetheless that she’ll take pleasure in.

The situation isn’t doing her justice. The warm glow from the fire bathes his skin in golden light, making him appear like a god for her eyes and anyone who has the pleasure to look at him.Long ebony locks in a tousled mess, but he’s pulling it off well. Without his armor on, left in the undershirt, he’s fully exposed. She can take in the broadness of his chest, the toned yet slender build of his body. Just the appearance of his arms- no longer covered up by bulky armor-gives her a sense that they can hold her all night long.

A gutted groan snaps her out of her thoughts, attention going right back to him. She sees his hand twisting into bedsheets as he attempts to shift around in bed again. Even if she can fix the gash on his arm, she can’t fix the soreness in his bones from pushing himself too much. 

He grunts and twists his lips into a sneer, frustrated with himself. She catches him glancing in her direction, which in turn, adds onto his annoyance.

“You going to keep staring?” he snaps, tone sharp and pique.

Azari huffs, heat rising in her cheeks. “And are you going to continue to refuse my help when you clearly need it,” she gestures to his arm, “or would you like to wait all night and continue to be an ass? Don’t worry, I have all the time in the world to wait. You can lay in pain and get more blood on your shirt while I sleep by a nice cozy fire.”

She takes satisfaction in throwing his words back in his face and seeing how he perks up and turns his full attention on her. An expression twisting to disgust and enmity but falters. Words sinking in, realization of how haughty he’s acting. Shoulders sag as a heavy sigh leaves him. “Do I really sound like that?”

She nods. “Yeah, you do. Doesn’t feel great, does it?”

Heat faintly spreads across his cheeks. She swears there’s a sparkle in them, like stars in a clear summer night sky. He bows his head and stares absently down at his hands that are clenching the bedsheets. “No… it doesn’t. I’ve never really taken any consideration to how I may sound to others. Or how I treat them.”

Words feel stuck in her throat. Many that she wishes to say but doesn’t. They’re pointless and will only edge them closer to fighting. Once again she’s found another wall of his, another layer of protection. Breaking them down by force makes them be built up again more reinforced than the last time. So she says nothing, swallowing back the words as she dips the rag back into the warm bucket of water and wrings it out. Silently moving closer to him, she doesn’t even need to ask him to roll up his sleeve or give her his arm, he does it without being told.

Her eyes flicker between the gash and him. It’s deep, fabric sticking to the blood that’s congealing and his whole forearm is coated in his own blood. How he covered it up for the whole day, she’ll never know. She only found out when they came back from catching the shard and Threep smelling blood. She keeps the rag at bay as she looks back at him, waiting on an answer if she can press it to the wound.

He lifts his head up and looks at her, eyes glancing to the rag before back at her and gives a slight nod. She gingerly presses the cloth to his wound, watching his face contort in pain, a hiss escaping his lips. She holds it in place as he tenses up before relaxing, settling back into the bed. “ _Fuck_ , it still hurts.”

Azari makes work of the wound, mindfully cleaning off the blood and picking away the small scraps of fabric. “It’s going to for some time,” she tears her eyes away from him to focus on her hands, “you should have said something.”

“I thought it wasn’t serious.”

"Lair. You knew, you just don’t like people helping you,” her fingers tighten around the cloth as she glances his way, “I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t take help from anyone unless it’s your own. And you don’t like people caring about you,” she pauses, “ and if I have to guess, it’s why you act like a total ass to people. Because if you push them away, they won’t care or help you.”

Tyril presses his lips into a thin line as his free hand brushes back the hair from his face. His adam apple straining against his throat. “Help and care are… words that have become a stranger to me. I’ve had only myself to rely on. So yes, I don’t take help nor accept any sort of care from others...” his voice trails off for a moment, “and you’re right, about the pushing away thing. It’s so I _don’t_ have people caring about me or helping me. I didn’t have it in the past, why have it now?”

“Not even as a kid? Didn’t your parents help you? Care about you the way a parent _should_?”

He lets a low, humorless chuckle part past his lips. “Adorable that you think they did. But no, my parents weren’t the tender loving kind. Lords help their people before they help themselves. That was-or rather is-their teachings with me. Care for your people but never yourself for at the end of the day, there is no one left to help a lord but himself,” a hum sounds from the back of his throat as he lays his head back against the pillows, “it creates a man who is selfless yet self serving at the same time. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She stops cleaning the wound. A question that has her off guard. She’s been selfish before but for selfless purposes. Stealing from others to survive, taking advantage of a patrons intoxication by swiping a few gold. Hell, she took advantage of Nia’s desperation to extort gold from her. But it was never without cause. They all were meant to care for herself, for her brother and at times, when she feels she can spare it, the less fortunate. 

Drawing the cloth away, she slips it back into her bucket and pulls herself up from the floor before sitting down on the edge of his bed. She takes his bad arm into her lap and gives it a once over before looking back at him. This close, she can smell the faintest hint of sea water on his lips. She even sees how dark his eyes look in the shadows of a roaring fire. They remind her of an ocean during the calm of a storm. 

“No. I don’t. Because you’re not self serving, Tyril, you care for people. Maybe you don’t see it but I do. _We_ do.” She finds herself leaning in closer towards him, like a phantom string pulling at her. 

He sits himself up, pushing past the pain to straighten himself out and lean in close to her. His free hand brushing against her other hand and causes a blush to creep along his face. It's richer in color,makes his cheeks appear a shade or so darker than last time and twinkle even more. Heat comes to her face as well and flushes through the rest of her body, her breathing becoming assuasive.

“ They don’t know me. _You_ don’t know me, Azari. You’ve only known me for at best almost two weeks. That’s not enough time. Live awhile, indulge in the longevity of our kind and you’ll see what I mean.”

Her hand holding his arm in her lap lets go and finds its way to brushing back a strand that hangs in his face. He doesn’t stop her, not even showing any sign of displeasure at her display. “You could be right. But I think with some people you can tell right away,” she bites down on her lip as she thinks over her words, “you haven’t told me how you got this wound in the first place. What were you doing that made us miss you getting hurt?”

He glimpse down quickly to her lips before snapping his eyes back up to meet her own. His words leave his lips just barely above a whisper. Like a secret being shared between old friends under the protection of night. “Because I was protecting _all_ of you. Because I didn’t want to see others or _you_ get hurt.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and she has no desire to hear the rest. 

Azari is the one to press her lips onto his. Kissing is nothing new to her, not when she’s made out with the mayor’s daughter and a few inn patrons back in Riverbend. But this is _new_. This is tasting sea salt that melts into a sweetness she can’t place, this is the feeling of lips that are so perfectly soft and fit well against her own that it could be its own myth. A myth she can say she’s apart of. It makes her heart hammer against her chest, a tiny pull of magic wanting to bubble to the surface but is drowning under the waves of heat that flush through her body. 

The kiss leaves her breathless as she draws away, eyes fluttering open to stare back into his own. They’re wide, full of bewilderment and prurience and by gods are they beautiful to stare into. They remind her of the fae fish they’d seen just days ago. His cheeks are the darkest shade she's seen, so much so she sees the patterns of stars imprinted on his skin. They still shine like real ones, some dim while others bright. If she stares long enough, she swears some even pluse with a glow.

"Azari…” Tyril’s voice is faint, just as breathless as she is, speaking her name like a prayer. His eyes scan her face, taking her in like a priceless work of art. In a swift movement, he closes the sliver of space between them. His good arm wrapping around her neck as he falls back against the pillows, bringing her down with him. His hand grabbing a fistful of her hair all the while she roams her hands up to his face, cupping it and feeling the warmth radiate from him. There’s a sense of ardor behind the kiss this time around. Where fevered, breathless moans escaping past their lips, bodies pressing to one another and locking right in place when she straddles his lap. A perfect position to feel his cock pressing against her from under his pants.

The sensation brings about a sudden wave of feverish warmth that burns it’s way into her very core. The lustful thoughts consuming her, allowing _her_ to get a taste of what lies beneath. Feeling, knowing, _touching_ but unable to have in the moment. His hips buck when she kisses down his neck, causing his hardening cock to press up against her more. The hand up in her hair digging deeper, finding a way to tether himself to this world. 

“ _Shit_ ,” a rich groan sounding from the back of his throat, one that she feels the vibrations of, “Azari-oh god- the things you do to me.”

Their moans paint their lips and shadows dance with the flames lights as their paradisiacal kiss leaves her craving more. They break to only catch their breath before the other steals it away. They make each other's words drown to blissful moans and lustful gasps. Tyril’s hand traveling from her hair to the small of her back, fingers desperately clutching fabric all the while his teeth graze her bottom lip. Her nails scratching at the sliver of his exposed chest leaves him a gasping mess. 

Beyond the lascivious sounds and emotions, a more intense feeling beings to rise. It’s one that walks itself between being aphrodisiac and being its own entity, a _thing_ she's not able to place. She notices it in her vision first, when stars and light are filtering through a fluttering gaze. The moans, the cries of his name that die as a hot breath on his skin. It pulls at her gut, like a string that's too tight, though not in a way an orgasm pulls at her. Where as that burns with a ravenous desire, like a fire left to it’s own device, this sears down into her very nerves. She anchors herself by placing one hand in his hair, twisting her fingers in silk like locks while her other hand places itself over the thunderous drum of his heart. The feeling swallows her whole, it’s painful, disorienting and setting her nerves ablaze as they cry out each others names.

Where there is pain, there’s a welcoming relief that follows. She lays against him, head resting on his shoulder and legs entangled with one another. The intense high fading into a comforting after glow. 

His bad arm still lays in place--she’s thoroughly amazed he didn’t move it once-- but his other is around her waist, holding her close. She finds herself playing with his hair, like a comfort of sorts, as their racing hearts fall into a steady rhythm. But the sound is intense, echoing loudly in her head as she frowns trying to pinpoint the reason why. She _knows_ her own heartbeat by sound but this… this is like hearing two at once. 

To top it off, she can’t distinguish if the heat and euphoric rush that’s cooling her body is her own or-

Oh.

_Oh._

She sits up suddenly, staring right at Tyril with a startled expression. His face is flushed, lips a lighter shade of blue and swollen slightly. He bites the bottom of his lip as they longingly stare down one another all the while he takes his arm off of her and she sits back. Words working against her, no one willing to be venturesome and speak first.

Azari cracks first when she starts feeling the pain in her arm, exactly where the wound is on _his_ arm. It’s not normal… nothing about this _is_ normal. “Tyril what in the seven hells happened to _me_ ? I can hear you. I can _feel_ you! I-I wasn't able to before all this so what is going on?”

He shrinks a little into himself, eyes looking straight to the floor. “It’s not you, Azari, it’s _us_ ,” he lifts his eyes up from the ground, and for the first time, she sees fear come over his eyes, “the bonds of Dinvali have connected you and I.”

The statement hits her like a tidal wave. Though the tablet proved to be of worth in explaining her kind, she gathers now that there is much that written words could never convey. She plays his words in her head over and over, to the point that by the time she feels comfortable to speak the gravity of it all isn’t registering. “Dinvali… you mean the sexual connection o-of our kind? There’s an li-literal _bond_ that happens?”

All Tyril can do is nod slowly. “Yes. It’s uh, it’s complicated. The bond is so vastly different that our stories of it are never written, only spoken. Because no book can ever explain nor compare to ones own personal words and feelings.”

A laugh leaves her. It slips out without thinking, it's her coping habit, her wall to keep her safe. “Oh so w-what we fucking make out and all of the sudden we’re bonded? That’s not how it works that’s not-”

“That _is_ exactly how it works though, Azari!” He sits up in bed, voice tight, teetering on the edge of panic. “It comes when it wants to. It-It happens when it feels ready to happen. A-And we can’t stop it! The bonds are their own thing, an entity. You can't begin to comprehend _what_ these things are and neither can I! No one can! People spend their whole life trying to understand it and they die without ever knowing exactly why."

He takes a shaky breath, turning away as to hide away the gloss that falls over his eyes. She feels the sting in her own eyes, the tightening in her chest but not his sadness, his fear. Everything is physical, not emotional. Not yet anyway. “It’s never happened to me. That’s why I’m _scared_ . You’re the first one I’ve ever bonded with and it came on so quickly I couldn’t comprehend that, that’s what it was like. It’s not grounded in scholarly facts but in _us_. In me, in you and whoever we connect to.”

She crosses her arms, pressing them tightly against her as she fights off her own tears-or what she thinks are her tears- from springing to her eyes. She gazes outside the window, seeing how night has pulled its blanket over them. She takes a long,deep breath before looking back at him, uncrossing her arms. “So what do we do now? Does it break? Is it going to strengthen the longer we,” she makes a lame gesture with her hand, “continue whatever this is? Or are we supposed to find other people because that’s what elves do?”

Tyril finally looks at her, the gloss gone from his eyes, hopefully some of the panic ebbing away. He relaxes his shoulders as he passes a look between her hands and her face before tentatively taking one of her hands into his. When he speaks, his tone is the softest she’s ever heard. “I don’t know. I’ve heard from many elves that it can die out and be severed, however; some have been holding onto it for over two hundred years, loyalty and desire never wavering or mingling. They learn how to pick apart their partners’ from their own and co-exist beautifully. What becomes of ours,” he sighs, “I can’t say. That’s on us to decide. But the bonds may disagree.”

"You speak like they understand us better than we understand ourselves," she tells him, words barley above a whisper.

He gives a huff of a lugh. "They do. It sounds funny now but, in all years of being alive, raised in high elven society, I've never seen such a thing be so right before. Almost like they're all knowing in some way."

Her lips press into a thin line, words and emotions weighing heavy on her. It’s all new to both of them. Way in over their heads, left to ponder if they’ll let a spark die or live and see if it's the right choice. “Do we have to decide now on what happens to us? Will the bond understand the reasoning?”

He shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want to. We can pretend it didn’t happen, let it die a good death. The bonds may be all knowing but remember they're also-at the end of the day- still connected to us, they may still hold on in protest but there comes a day when it lets go. Or we can try and work with it… see where it goes. See if the bond deepens and expands. But I can’t promise you, Azari, that I’m a man worth holding out for and I-”

A kiss hushes him. A tender, silent kiss that shows him to stop talking while letting him know she’s listening. They’re complicated now. Walls still needing to come down, the game of time and words having to still be played. Even if it dies there’s no regrets towards him, only a deep sense of pride. A pride knowing for a fleeting moment, a speck on her near immortal timeline, she let him know the world isn’t going to end if he lets someone help or care for him. 

She draws her lips away, only for him to hungrily pull her back in and kiss her deeply, allowing what could be his last taste or the start of many more. He pulls away, breathless like the way he was before. They longingly stare at one another, a silent admiration. She leans in once more, pressing her forehead to his as she squeezes his hand tightly, heavy eyes sliding to a close as she lets them be in the moment.

Tonight can be _theirs_. Like a secret school children share. Meant just for them, away from the sight of others and under the fond gaze of night, knowing the stars won’t tell. They’ll hold the secret and follow it to wherever it may take them. 

And if it took them to each other or drifted them apart-or perhaps found others to share the secret with-she’d be perfectly fine with that. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this ended up being a two part series oh well lemme know if you want a part 3 maybe somewhere down the line
> 
> also we did not proofread cause we're fucking dumb and tired!!!

She makes picking blood out of her arrowtips look flawlessly beautiful. A sight he can watch a million times over and never grow tired of. She only pauses to push back strands of blonde whine hair that fall into her line of vision and immediately goes back to work. She scrunches her nose and flexes her fingers when she misses a spot, irritably sighing as she holds it up against the glowing moon and firelight to see if she’s got it all.

Sitting across from her, keeping but the small flicks of flames alive and providing warmth for the small area, Tyril tries to keep himself composed as much as he can. It’s only them, everyone else asleep and it’s been a hell of a day that he can’t seem to unwind from. She’s not helping. Not while she sits there and is wistfully unaware of how goddess-like she is being bathed in the twilights moonbeams and dull golden flames. No woman, no _person_ , should look this enchanting.

There are… _others_ who hold his attention the way she does, but tonight the fates are letting them be alone together again.

Not that he’s going to complain. That would be rude.

The nerves of seeing Undermount in less than twenty four hours makes the world feel much louder and suffocating. Sitting here, waiting for time to pass, it makes him restless. The rustle of leaves on the trees, creatures singing the songs of night, Mal’s light snoring as he’s wrapped up in Imtura’s arms under a tree. Even Theeps purs as he sleeps lazily up in a tree branch grates on his nerves. A weight settles in his chest and fingers fidget with the fabric of his clothes, face warm from the firelight and embarrassment he’s allowing the mundane to get to him.

A sudden prick in his skin makes him hiss and curse in pain, caught off guard by the pain. Clamping his hand around his wrist, he sneers and rubs at the spot. “What in the seven hells…”

A snicker draws his attention away from the pain, eyes befalling upon Azari, hiding her smile behind her hand that has a bright red mark on it.

Oh.

_Oh._

How foolish of him to forget of their bond. 

Tyril fell into a beautiful co-existence with her and their bond, so intune to each other he forgets its there. But Dinvali has its peculiar ways of expressing itself, being its own entity that exists to be accepted but never fully understood. He’s known many elves who studied the ways of their bonds, and died never fully knowing. Being bound to her through it, ever since the night she took care of him, it almost feels like a daydream. He knows not her inner most personal thoughts but he _knows_ her at the same time. He knows her pain, her heartbeat, the warmth that spreads across her cheeks when she’s complimented by Nia on her excellent bow skills. Emotions are hard to pinpoint, they must still rely on communication and other factors to understand those.

They knew each other on a physical level, but fate; time; and the bond itself will prove if it deepens and lets them know more.

She draws her hand away, showing off the smirk that tugs at her lips. “You were bothering me,” she whispers her words to him, “your restlessness was getting to be too much. Kept seeing you out of the corner of my eye bouncing your leg.”

He huffs a laugh, finding he can’t be angry at her for long. “You could have said something.”

“Yes but it’s more amusing for me to have some fun with you.”

Carefully regarding her and sobering up, he lets his eyes trail her from top to bottom. He stiffly turns away, concealing the violet blush that comes to his cheeks by the shadows of the flames. “You have a funny way of showing me “fun”, Azari.”

She waves his comment off with her hand while sliding her arrow back into her bag, finishing up polishing the last one. She meets his eyes, the stare intense and powerful, like looking back at a thunderstorm rolling in on a cloudy day. They hold a pleading silence but a deafening sense of desire.“I’ll show you more fun if you like. I think you need it, Tyril.”

Tyril knows he starves himself of three other desires, denying himself of her fully when he’s already tasted her would kill him.

Passing off a small smile, he graciously takes her hand and rises to his feet, coming up a few inches past her. Their fingers intertwining on instinct. She gives him a smile that could make the gods sing and the Shadows dissipate. He could never grow tired of her smile the same as he could never bore of Mal’s-despite how the rouge is a pain in his ass. Her pulse beats softly in his ears, matching his own and matching perfectly. 

They don’t need words to tell the other to follow. He does so without question and fail when she tugs on his hand and begins to walk to the edge of their camp. He anchors himself on her hold, walking in a blissful silence as the overwhelming suffocation ebbs away. The breakage in the treetops gave way to a profusion of stars that painted the dark ombre sky. The stars remind him of her eyes and the silver like color of the moonlight of her hair. 

“Where are you taking me exactly?” He tells her in a hush tone, fearful that the night may hear him speak. 

“Well if I tell you, that ruins the fun now doesn't it,” she muses, bumping into him playfully, “plus I’m thinking we could play a game while we’re at, you in?” 

A low hum sounds from the back of his throat, a small smile playing across his lips as he slips his hand from her own in exchange for sliding his arm around her waist, holding him close to his die as they walk. Her quickening heartbeat outpacing his own, the heat on his face increasing ten-fold as he knows they both sense one another. 

“Well, after battling bugs, dealing with a stuck up prince and the-ah- unforseen fae incident,” he pauses, carefully considering his next words, “I think a game would be most enjoyable. What do you have in mind? Is it sparring, battle of wits and wile? Oh seeing who can do”

“Wait wait slow down!” A humorous laugh leaves her, a laugh that sounds hearty and full of joy. She stops them walking, putting her hand on his shoulders and struggling to calm herself down. “T-Tyril it’s not… it’s not anything l-like that!”

His ribs ache from her laughter and the corner of his mouths have a dull throb to them as he furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side, failing to see the humor. “I don’t understand? Are those not suitable games to play?”

Shaking her head, white blond strands of hair coming loose from her long braid. She longingly looks up at him, eyes shining just like the stars and in beautiful contrast to his own. “Maybe for you but those aren’t the kind I played. I was thinking like a race, you know? You’ve done one of those before right?”

“You do that for _fun_?”

“Course. Who hasn’t? Kade and I raced each other to the riverbank all the time as kids once he stopped being sick and well…” she trails off with her words, stepping back and taking his hands into her own. “I was hoping we could have one of our own.”

 _Our own_ … two such simplistic words and yet hearing them makes his heart soar. A blush crosses his cheeks and he can’t help but to lean in and capture her lips in a soft, quick kiss. Wanting to savor her joy and laughter that is fresh on her lips. When he draws back, they’re more breathless than before. 

“I love it,” he smiles at her, “show me how one races in good humor and sport.” 

Azari gives his hands a firm squeeze and kisses his cheek before stepping back. “Well you’ve ran before right? Like running from the guards in the city.”

“Believe the right term there is begrudgingly helping you but yes, I remember.”

An impish push on his shoulder is given to him by her as she rolls her eyes. “Sure, whatever you want to call it. But just do that again only this time you’re trying to beat me to the river,” she gestures to the rest of their pathway before them, “and get there before I do. No need for dirty tricks or proving some kind of worth.”

A good hearted laugh leaves him as he glances down the trail, the moonlight showing the way and catching in the petals of blooming wildflowers and swaying blades of grass swaying in the cooler summer winds. “Sounds simple enough,” he turns his attention back on her, “I humbly accept and-”

Before he’s finished, she passes by him in a blur. Her loose strands catching in the wind and feet pouding on the ground as she calls out over her shoulder to him. “Great! Last one there has to skinny dip in the river! Think fast!”

_What a clever little minx she is._

And he wouldn’t have any other way.

Tyril takes off after her. Tuning out her drumming heart and blood pumping through her ears to focus on his own. The wind burning his skin in a refreshing coolness that he welcomes, carrying the scents of summer and wet earth. He watches the way she hops over fallen longs, pushes off of jutting out rocks and effortlessly stays on her toes. She reminds him much of an old elven goddess famous for running wild with the hunt of nature, in tune to it as they are to her. They lock eyes when she glances back, and seeing the way she throws her head back laughing like a damn fool is worth the inevitable loss he may face.

Seeing _any of them_ so exultant and care-free, as if the world exists only for them; brings him a sense of gratification that he never felt before. 

She keeps a distance between them, bounding through the changing terrain as if she’s one with it. Just when he thinks he’s caught up she pushes off ahead of him and where his footing starts to falter when the hill slopes slightly, she grounds herself. The trees starting to thin out and long blades of grass turn to shorter ones, earthy dirt mingling with river rocks and sands. It’s babbling waters music to his ears as it comes into view.

The race proves her the winner and him the loser as she comes to a graceful end and he skids to a stop just at the edge of the pathway, breathing a bit harder than he’d like. The loss of the race is bitter, nothing is sweeter than hearing her breathless laughter. Her cheeks tinted a dark red, hair messier and unkept. While his plus quickens and tries to decrease to a steadier level, her’s is half the speed. 

He takes a gulp of air in, swallowing hard as he straightens himself out to play up the guise to her that he is faring much better than he actually is. “You’re quite the runner there.”

Azari chuckles, a happy sigh leaving her as she glances over in his direction. “I had to run from the guards a lot as a kid. Can’t keep stealing if you get caught,” her eyes roam him from top to bottom, a teasing smile coming over her lips, “it’s cute how you’re hiding the fact you’re winded. Don’t worry, you did good. Did you have fun?”

 _Fun_ , what a strange little word.

Smiling back at her he approaches her, reaching out tentatively to brush aside a loose strand from her face as she leans into his touch. Her cheek warm against his hand. “I believe I did. The race was quite entertaining. Exactly what I needed.”

A tender hand is placed over his own. Pools of silver staring up at him and catching in the moon late that bathes them both. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you soon free and loose before. Not even at the party. It’s a sight I love to see on you.”

He brings their interlocked hands to his lips, kissing it with the utmost care and pleasure. Showing just a glimpse of the affection he has for her. “As I may say the same to hear the gaiety in your laughter or see you run so free among the stars and nature.

Tyril senses the heat in his cheeks before seeing the blush spread across her face. It creeps along her neck and even the tip of her nose as she takes her hand away, giving a forceful cough to hide her nervous laughter. “Well this night isn’t about me. It’s about you. And speaking of you, “she gestures to the river behind her, “I do believe, Starfury, you lost. Which means you have to go skinny dipping in the river. That was the rule.”

There’s too much pride in him to admit he’s done this before. Once upon a time the first and last time he dared to sneak out of his home as a wild reckless teen, wanting a taste of normalcy. Sneaking out of Undermount to boldly play in the river that borders their home and Deadwood. It was a thrill, a _rush_ of ecstasy that has long abandoned him, becoming nothing but a distant memory. 

A phantom of stinging pain returns like an old friend, right to the same place as always: between the shoulder blades and to the base of his spine. A reminder, the only one he was ever given, for stepping out of line.

A reminder of what killed his spark. The murder commited by his parents.

Shaking away the pain, he passes her a look as Azari stands there patiently waiting. But he sees the worry she’s hiding in her eyes. He knows it’s from standing here too long, too silent and stoic. He’s unsure if their bond lets her feel the phantoms, but he won't put it past him. With a heavy sigh, he unfastens the armor from his body, setting it down on a small patch of grass nearby until he’s down to the red tunic and trousers. He tries to avoid her eyes though helplessly he throws glances her way. Out of politeness she’s not looking, but the other heartbeat thundering that sounds in his ears is a betrayal to her. 

He hooks his fingers around his tunic, pressing his lips together in a thin line as it takes him a moment to compose himself before stripping it from his body. The red fabric gathering at his feet as he lets it fall and the sweet tepid summer breeze brushing across flushed blue skin. He feels as though a fever runs through his body once he removes his trousers just as he locks his gaze on her fully; and her returning the gaze not a moment later. He sees how she looks him over, an abysmal hunger in her eyes that looks starved.

“Join me?”

_Oh you idiot. You couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut?_

Tyril curses himself mentally, teeth biting the inside of his cheek as he’s in too deep. He’s mistrustful of himself in what prompted him to ask her but he knew he _had_ to ask. If it was the way they’re alone together under the stars, painted in a full moon's light with only but each other around to partake in this resplendent and captivating oasis they call the river.

He holds his breath, trying to pick apart his own physical feelings from hers. They blend together well, almost too well. They’ve grown closer but their walls are there, sometimes lowered and oftentime guarded. He prays to all the gods and goddesses that grace the earth he’s finding a time where they’re lowered. Because truthfully all he wants is _her_. He wants to savor the night with her, to wade in the cooling waters and embrace this moment. Though there is the small inkling within him to have the others here, it is what Nia calls “baby steps”. 

But this damn well didn’t feel like a baby step. This felt like running head first into the unknown, fearing what lies within and beyond it.

Biting her lower lip, she casts a longing gaze to the river before turning back to him. Without a need for words to be her answer, she undoes the clasp around her shawl and angel fingers pull at the strings of her tunic. Her feet kick away her clothes as she dresses herself down to nothing. Bare before him and exposed in an intimate manner he truly feels as though he’s forgotten to breathe. 

“Azari…” he breathes out, her name a whisper on his lips like a prayer back in the temple. A tightness makes itself known in his cock and a slight tug in the pit of his stomach causes him to nearly choke up on the muffling groan he’s trying to not have leave him. Staring at her feels as though he’s in the presence of a goddess or great work of art. A presence he’s too unworthy of not beholding. 

“Just shut up and come here.” She beckons him to come over, walking backwards into the river bank with that devilish smirk and lust starving eyes. 

Tyril never needs to be told twice, not with her at least. He strides over to her, causing a squeal of laughter and surprise when he hooks an arm around her waist and hungrily kisses her without warning. Magic crackling around them as he walks her back into the river, the water hugging them like silk sheets. He can’t even register the chill to the water, his mind and body focused on the woman before and pleasing her. He stops waist deep for him, which for her is past her navel. His lips move against hers in a edacious manner, savoring every moan that leaves her and the way she pushes herself against him to deepen it. A groan of his own leaving the back of his throat when she racks her nails through his hair.

They break for air, catching their breaths which are hot and mingling together. He allows himself to let his eyes roam from her face to her breast. Perky and there for the taking, curious shades of faint purple faded stretch marks around them in her skin. Another thing to add to the list of what he loves about her. “Gods you’re stunning…” the words fall from his lips while taking in everything about her. The moonlight paints her well, making her look more ethernal than she already is. The throb in his cock returning and electrifying pleasure that jolts his spine returning 

“Could be saying the same thing,” she replies in a breathless tone as she captures his lips again and grips his hair again, a wistful sigh that becomes a moan escaping her before pulling away, “you’re something else, Tyril. And I’m not sure if this is a dream or truly real.”

Tyril gives her a smile, one that’s not clouded in being shy or trying to hide it, but a real genuine smile while he trails his hand that's nestled on her waist up her back, finding a strange satisfaction in the shiver that runs through her body and that's felt in his own nerves. “I can assure you this is real. It would be a nightmare otherwise if it weren’t.”

Azari gives a shake of her head, her radiant smile spreading across her lips as she pulls him right back in for another kiss that is more feverish than the last. His body, _their_ bodies, together flushing in an arousing heat and the lascivious desire for one another seeming to fall into place. Tyril brings them closer together by picking her up and holding her up, letting her wrap her legs around him. Her wet body pressing against him, hands sliding through the rest of his hair until they’re settling between his shoulder blades. Her fingertips run over the scar and he tenses on insistic. 

Her smile in the kiss falters, an overwhelming sense of dread filling him wondering if he killed the moment between them just as it started. But instead, he finds her moving her fingers away and placing her hands on his shoulders. Small whispers being spoken between their breaks in the kiss, words of care and promises to let him know everything is going to be okay.

Somehow, in some way he can’t fully explain, the words are all he needs to hear.

It drives him to kiss her more passionately, to pour everything he has to offer her right now in this moment. The magic around them hissing and crackling, time standing still and the sound of nature drawing back. Their bond anchoring them to one another, tethered in such a way the physical feelings act together as one. Every hot kiss pressed to skin, nails racking across blue or pale purple skin and leaving angry markings in their wake. It’s the nerves that flare up time and time again in white hot pleasure and cool into a sensation that burns. 

His cock twitches between his legs, the tug in his core gnawing to be released as he kisses her breast and squeezes her thighs. Gruff groans vibrate his chest when he hears her call out his name and racks her nails across his shoulders. He desperately so wishes to slip a finger between her folds and watch her come undone. 

Her hips buck against him when he takes a nipple into his mouth. Teeth grazing over it and tongue swirling around it. The pulses of bliss that pass through him leave him seeing stars in his vision. Her fingers thread through his hair and pull on the long dark locks, causing him to moan loudly. It’s not on him to be loud, he’s a rather silent lover.

But she and… _others_ could and can very well change that.

Pulling away, he goes to work on her other breast but is stopped by her hand grabbing hold of his chin and side of his face and breaking his attention away. His heavy lidded eyes fighting to open up as he manages to do so with a struggle, looking at her wondrously flushed face and equally heavy eyes that are nothing short but clouded and filled with exortic desire.

“I _want_ you.” She speaks three simple words like they are sacred prayers. 

After a passing moment of silence, Tyril finds his voice. “As you wish.”

The water seems to part for them as he wades through it. Their lips unable to stay off one another, a hurriedness in their movements and his walk. He carries her the whole way out of the water until they’re back on shore and lowers her back down. Not making it very far as she pulls him in closer , hands entangled back in his hair. He wastes not another precious second in having one hand supporting her lower back and the other between her legs, parting her to reach her clit and finding how wet she is (from both the water and herself personally) for him. Gasping mewls and huffing breaths rattling her chest when rubs tight circles against her clit. Their rash and bold movements causing them to lower themselves onto a small area of grass that is soft and smelling of the wild flowers that grow around them.

She’s laid out below him in such a delicate manner. Her blonde braid a mess, causing some various strands to lay strewn about in the grass. The water droplets catching in the moonlight, the various shades of pink appearing across her flushed body. Her hands, such graceful and steady ones that belong to that of a brawler and archer, clutching at the earth that lays below her to find a way to ground herself while his fingers work her clit well. 

_I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you… speeches that could describe you so perfectly but none will ever compare. Not when you look like this all laid out for me._

“Tyril!” Azari cries out, back arching up as he hits her sensitive spot. Legs trembling as she shuts her eyes and fights back a moan. He feels the moan build her chest and the warmth that’s pooling in her stomach. It pairs so celestially well with the tightness that runs from his pelvis to his cock that’s hard and leaking beads of precum. 

Leaning down, he silences her cries with a kiss, lacing his free hand with her own, showing he’s right here and not leaving. Her leg hooks around his waist, angling herself better and letting his fingers work her swollen clit. 

“Say it again, love,” he whispers between the breaks in their kiss, “I want the heavens to hear you scream my name.”

“ _Shit_ -Tyril please! Please take me!” She pleads with him, voice strained and body shaking. He struggles to not shake himself, but its so damn hard to fight for control. The control to do this right and not not take on a whim though it’s what they both wish for.

“Mmmm… louder, Azari,” he growls, teeth nipping and pulling at her plump lips, fingers fucking her with earnest now. His cock starting to ache with a longing for release. That very tug in him turning to burn and tightening hold as he’s right on the edge and waiting to let go. 

“Tyril! Tyril- _fuck_ \- I need you! I-I so close… s-so close Ty-Tyril!” She snaps her hips to match his pace, her body and his fingers connecting together rhythmically as she squeezes his hand tightly. “Tyril please! P-Please I...I…”

His control doesn’t last after that. Not when her siren-like voice screams his name and pleads like that. He draws his fingers away and braces himself against the earth, one hand anchoring itself by digging at the grass beneath his palm and the other squeezing hers like a viper squeezing prey. She slides her leg from his waist, opening them enough for him to fit perfectly between. Without a second thought, he brings his hips to hers and enters her with ease. A gutted groan burning his throat and rattling his chest while setting a hasteful pace.

She feels _perfect_. Like he’s being blessed with a divine gift from the gods. The rhythm they fall into with ease, the pleasure shared between them as she feels him and he feels her. It’s a feeling that has no words to describe it. He just knows he’s never felt anything like it but by gods above him does he hope to experience it again. She takes him so well, panting whines and lustful moans to match his own, pressing her forehead against him as she claws at his shoulder with her nails. Time doesn’t feel as though it exists with her; finding it easy to get lost to her and the world to be an afterthought. 

A pressure builds in him, one that feels all consuming and entirely otherworldly. If it’s him or her- or perhaps both- reaching their edge, he can’t tell. Just that the sensation is nothing like he’s ever experienced before. His magic is chaotic and closing in around them and their bond feeling as though its splitting into two. A blazing heat that reminds him of the sun beating down on a cloudless summer day ignites in his nerves and an intense electric sensation pulses through his spine. 

“Azari!” he screams her name with power and force, making his throat feel raw as he throws his head back. The edge having been reached and he falls over, releasing everything in him as the world collapses in on itself. Stars dancing in his vision that’s a blinding white light and magic sparking from his body. His only anchor is her and feeling her hand tensely tighten around his own in her own attempt to stay in this world rather than the next. 

Tyril doesn’t know how long they stay the way they are- moving feels almost like a curse and blessing to him.

Still, he opens his eyes slowly and stiffly props himself up on his forearms before rolling off of her, falling beside her with a heavy thud and huff. The stars in the twilight sky appear much brighter and the only sound he can hear is a faint static of sorts. The heat lingering around his cheeks as he thickly swallows, trying to calm down from the orgasm and whatever in the seven hells just happened. 

Tyril turns his head slowly to her direction at the same time as she does. Their eyes locking onto one another. Her pupils wide and cheeks the brightest shade of pinkish purple he’s ever seen. She’s angelic looking, even with sweat making her hair stick to her forehead. He sees her trying to form words, think of anything to say just as he is. This wasn’t the same as the times before. No kisses in old ruined temples, no sharing a bed together in a run down home in Deadwood. And definitely not making out on Imtura’s ship while she nursed his wound and bonded for the first time.

_You’re not saying anything, Tyril. Why aren’t you saying anything?_

The voice startles him. Eyes going wide as he stares right at her though doesn’t see her lips move. She looks frightened too, like he’s caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. 

It shouldn’t be happening… it _can’t_ be happening.

He focuses on the static in his ears, tuning into it intensely as he can . Just to see if his theory is right.

_Azari? Can you hear me?_

She sits up with a start, propping herself up as she stares at him with fearful eyes. He catches her subtle nod, one that if he blinks he would have missed it. And though he’s filled with his own fear, hers seeps into his, feeding off of one another like a predator does with prey. 

“Tyril… what does this mean?” she asks him, speaking barely above a whisper

A question without an answer. One of the many things he wishes to know and yet knows he will never understand. 

He swallows hard, his adams apple straining against his through as he too sits up, his fingertips brushing against her own in the grass as he looks out to the river, like it will hold the answers for him. But it doesn't, no one does. 

When he looks back at her, it's as if she knows the answer to her own question. “It means… it means Kilvali finally chose us. We’re fully bonded now.”


End file.
